


Unsteady

by ephemerall



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M, SHEITH - Freeform, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-07 21:56:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11632722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephemerall/pseuds/ephemerall
Summary: Shiro had been watching Keith ace flight simulations for months; it was not new.  The sleepless nights, the skipped meals, and the dark crescents under his eyes were.  He was distant most times and the rest of the time?  He clung to Shiro like he was the only thing keeping him alive.Also new:  hearing Keith threaten to kill someone and beating the ever-loving shit out of a classmate after a simulation.





	Unsteady

**Author's Note:**

  * For [avidbeader](https://archiveofourown.org/users/avidbeader/gifts).



> Thank you to avidbeader for the. This also directly follows my last story "Lay Down Your Guns."
> 
> If you love me, don’t let go  
> Hold, hold on  
> Hold on to me  
> ‘cause I’m a little unsteady  
> a little unsteady  
> \--X-Ambassadors, "Unsteady"

Shiro had been watching Keith ace flight simulations for months; it was not new.  The sleepless nights, the skipped meals, and the dark crescents under his eyes were. He was distant most times and the rest of the time?  He clung to Shiro like he was the only thing keeping him alive.

Also new:  hearing Keith threaten to kill someone and beating the ever-loving shit out of a classmate after a simulation.

Keith had exited the simulation, his quiet mock crew following at least a foot behind him.  Professor Montgomery nodded, told Keith his work was excellent.  A boy in the middle of the room, tall with blonde hair and outweighing Keith by nearly a hundred pounds, scoffed.  “At least the rest of us don’t fuck teachers to get extra practice and to make grades.”

Shiro’s eyes widened so much that had it not been for the situation it would have been comical.  Keith paled considerably.

“What did you just say to me?” Keith asked, voice pitched low, wavering but dangerous.  Professor Montgomery didn’t move yet but watched carefully.

“Not appropriate, Cadet Erickson.  You’ll have lunch time PT with me for a week.”

“Say it again and I’ll kill you,” Keith said, his voice nearly a whisper.  There was something dark in his eyes and over that a sheen of tears he would never let his classmates see loose.

“Kogane!” Professor Montgomery snapped but Keith took a step forward.  Shiro was in motion, pushing away from the other side of the room.

“Does it bother you that everyone knows you screw teachers to improve your grades?  Is that why you’re the star pilot of our class?”

Shiro’s heart was pounding loudly in his ears and the noise Keith made was almost inhuman.  He launched himself at the other cadet and Erickson didn’t even have time to lift his arms in defense.  Keith tackled him to the ground, fists flying so fast, so hard they were a blur.  Shiro pushed cadets out of the way, running across the room. Professor Montgomery shouted and several of Keith’s classmates tried to pull him off but it was no use.

“Keith, stop!” Shiro shouted, but his fists keep connecting.  Professor Montgomery’s eyes were wide in shock.  Risking getting in trouble for disrespecting a teacher, Shiro called out.  “Don’t just stand there!  Professor!”

It seemed to work.  They reached the pair at the same time, Montgomery pulling Erickson out from under Keith as Shiro grabbed Keith around the middle and hauled him back.  Looking at the bloody mess of Erickson’s face – nose broken, lips split wide open, maybe even missing some teeth – he felt the flicker of fear that Keith actually would have killed him if he and Professor Montgomery hadn’t pulled them apart.  Keith screamed while Shiro pulled him back and his classmates had given them a wide berth, standing and watching in both surprise and horror.

"Stop it!  Keith, enough!”  Shiro was actually a little surprised how much effort it took to drag Keith away.  His knuckles were a bloody mess, and judging by the rapid swelling he’d likely broken a few fingers.  It didn’t even seem to register.  He dragged him out into the hallway where Keith shoved him away hard enough to make Shiro hit the wall.  Keith stood there, face ghostly white and red high in his cheeks.  He panted, both from exertion and what Shiro had come to recognize as panic.  “It’s ok. You’re ok,” Shiro said, breathing a little harder than before.

Keith grabbed his own hair, fisted it tightly before he swayed.  He dropped to his knees and threw up in the hallway.  He let go of his hair, bent forward with one hand planted on the ground for balance and the other clutched around his middle.  There was a puddle of nothing but bile and water – another indicator that Keith hadn’t eaten today – a long line of spit clinging to his lips.  Shiro took a small step forward and hesitated; he needed to tread carefully when Keith was like this.

“Can I help you up?”

Keith sat back on his heels and held up the hand – don’t come closer – he had used to balance on.  “Don’t… just-just get away from me.”

Shiro’s chest tightened.  It hurt in a way he couldn’t give words to when Keith pushed him away.  They’d grown close – slept in the same bed, kissed soft and carefully – but Keith holding him at arm’s length, effectively shutting him out with walls made of steel was a knife between the ribs, twisting painfully.

“Ok,” Shiro said softly.  He stood there waiting while Keith gulped in air and coughed a few times.  After a few minutes that felt like eternity, Keith staggered to his feet. He swayed, eyes closed, but kept his balance and Shiro resisted the urge to reach out.  “Let’s go down to the infirmary, ok?  I won’t,” Shiro cleared his throat, “ I won’t touch you, ok?”  Keith nodded.  He cradled his hand now, and underneath the drying blood that probably didn’t belong to him Shiro could see the purple-blue bruises blooming.

 

Keith avoided him for two days and as much as it hurt, Shiro let him.  He sat with a text reviewing the old Mars Rover reports, wondering how they got accurate information without actual feet on the proverbial ground, when he was startled by the soft knock at his door.  He was surprised to find Keith.

Thursday nights they spent in Shiro’s room – it was an unspoken agreement.  Shiro would help Keith with homework if he needed it, but most times they wound up watching old movies until they fell asleep.  This time Keith mumbled an apology and asked if he could just stay in Shiro’s room.

“Of course,” Shiro answered, choosing not to ask questions about the last two days.  He’d rather not make things worse for Keith.  “You want to watch anything specific?”

“Something in black and white,” Keith answered, sliding into Shiro’s bed and closing his eyes for a moment.  Shiro spent a few minutes puttering around, unsure of where to sit or what to do.  “Knock it off, Shiro,” Keith said, his usual brash attitude returning. “Come and lay down with me.”

“Are you asking me to cuddle?”  Lightening the mood was a good idea because Keith bit down on a grin.

“Shut up,” he said, making room for Shiro to slide in next to him.

Shiro dozed on and off for a time, maybe twenty or thirty minutes, when Keith shut the movie off and, lying next to Shiro on the too-narrow bed, he turned to face Shiro and kissed him.  This is how it went when they shared any kind of intimacy.  Shiro never initiated; he let Keith call all the shots, and if Keith wanted nothing more than to sit together then it was ok.

Shiro was surprised, given the events of the last few weeks, but he hesitantly kissed back.  Things like this had always been soft, tentative, but Keith was much more aggressive.  He grabbed Shiro’s face, pressing their mouths together, chasing Shiro’s kisses with tongue and teeth.

“Easy,” Shiro murmured against his mouth.  He liked it, probably too much, but he didn’t want to do anything that would cause more damage.  Keith, however, had other ideas; he shoved Shiro over onto his back and straddled his waist.  “Keith, what are you – ”

He didn’t let Shiro finish and dove back in with too much enthusiasm and Shiro felt all kinds of alarms going off in his head when Keith rolled his hips.  They’d never done more than kiss, hold hands in private, sleep next to each other – hell, they hadn’t even made out and Keith was here pushing for something much more.  Shiro grabbed hold of Keith’s hips and pushed him back, lips disconnecting with a wet pop.

“Stop,” Shiro said gently.  “What are you doing?”

“Don’t you want me?” Keith asked, brows drawn together.

“Of course I do, I just don’t think this is a good idea right now.”  Shiro could see the frustration in Keith’s face, the confusion and hurt, and a kind of determination that made his heart beat in anxiousness.

“Why?  I’m not a virgin.  You of all people should know that.”  He was angry.

Shiro hadn’t, in fact, known that.  He’d gotten the gist of what happened to Keith, but he refused to cause more hurt and ask for details.  He’d left that to Commander Holt for an official, anonymous report.  The shock and hurt must have shown on his face because Keith scoffed and turned his head away.  He laughed in a way that was entirely humorless.

“What, did you think he just pushed me around?  Touched me in a bad place?  Think he just grabbed my hair and made me suck his dick, Shiro?”

“Keith, stop.”  He didn’t want to hear these things.  It made him angry, made him want to kill the former Garrison employee that could do such a thing.  It made him want to hide Keith away.  And it made him feel stupid for thinking that yes, what Keith just said was the extent of the ordeal.

“You know what he did?  He held me down, he put me on my hands and knees and he held me down and – “

“Stop it!” Shiro yelled, hands tight on Keith’s hips.  When he realized how tightly he was holding onto Keith he let go entirely.  Keith choked on something – a half-laugh, half-sob.  “Keith – “ his voice was much softer this time.

“I get it,” Keith said softly.  He clambered off of Shiro, backing away and shaking his head.  “Used goods.  Who would want that?”  Keith swallowed hard.

“Oh god, Keith, no.  That’s not it.  That is not it at _all_.”  He sat up, swinging his legs over the bed and standing quickly.  Keith took a step back.  “I just… I don’t want to make things worse.  You’re not used goods – don’t talk about yourself like that.”

Keith grabbed his bag and slung it angrily over his shoulder.  “If you won’t fuck me, then I’ll find someone who will.”

Shiro felt like he’d been slapped.  He swallowed hard, unsure of how to respond as Keith yanked open his door.  “Keith, wait.”  But the sound of the door slamming was the response.

He didn’t sleep at all.

Instead, he paced the room and tidied his things.  He took out each drawer of white tee shirts, underwear and socks and re-folded the laundry and reorganized his drawers.  He opened the small closet, rearranged his dress shoes from his boots and lined up each pair carefully, leaving his shower sandals in the corner.  He hung his shower caddy at the end of the bar, keeping his pressed jackets and pants at the opposite side.  He spent hours just keeping himself busy -- it was nearly two in the morning when he sat down at his desk.

As much as he felt like shit for even considering it, Shiro worried Keith would make good on his threat.  It was impossible for him _not_ to be physically attracted to Keith, and maybe he had no right to decide what Keith was and wasn’t ready for, but he had the gut feeling that sex in and of itself was just a bad idea.  He felt silly, though he knew he shouldn’t, when he shook the mouse and woke the computer and started looking up information on victims (even though he’d never call Keith that to his face – he was pretty sure Keith would take a swing without remorse).  Contrary to what he thought, and what Keith often did, victims didn’t always react with an aversion to touch.  Sometimes, he read, they turned to promiscuity to reassert the fact they had control of their bodies, of sex.

Shiro’s stomach churned at the idea.  Keith’s state of mind lately had been dark at best, not that he could blame him, but he’d rather Keith demand not to be touched than to let strangers touch him in a way that would ruin what was left of his self-worth.  He didn’t condone it by any means, but he’d rather Keith take out his frustrations by lashing out and hitting something.  Usually it was a someone.

He’d no sooner thought it when there was a knock on his door and his heart leapt into his throat.   _Please, please let it be Keith_.  It wasn’t.  It was Officer Hernandez. Shiro peered around her, out into the hall, and it was empty.  It was long past curfew.

“Shiro,” she said, absent of formalities.

“Hey, Lindsay,” he said warily.  “Everything ok?”

“You should come down to the infirmary.”

Immediately Shiro’s stomach sank.  If he had to hazard a guess, Keith either followed through on the threat to “find someone who will” or he got in another fight.  This time he found himself praying Keith had thrown punches with someone.  “Is he ok?”

 She sighed.  “You should come see him.  We can talk in the infirmary.”

Keith always said the infirmary was really cold – he was right.  Shiro had only been here twice, both from dislocating his shoulder in hand-to-hand combat training. Instead of stopping at the even colder metal tables she led him back further where a small space was curtained off.  She stopped outside the little divider.

“Listen, Commander Holt divulged what happened, and I’m glad he did.  He is self-destructing, Shiro.  I’m trying to help him and I want you to know that.” She shook her head, eyebrows drawn together and mouth turned down at the corners.  “He picked a fight with Cadet Erickson, only this time… Cadet Erickson had some help.  I’m not going to write Keith up this time, but if this happens again…”

Shiro nodded.  “I understand.  Is he ok?”

She took a deep breath and sighed.  “Erickson is on probation, just so you know, but Keith has a broken collarbone, some stitches in his lip, a concussion.  Technically, I’m not allowed to tell you that, but… he doesn’t have anyone else.”  She motioned for him to go ahead and see Keith and quietly walked away.

Shiro had to close his eyes for a moment when he walked around the curtain.  Keith was a fucking mess.  His face was bruised and swollen, his left arm was secured to his body to immobilize it and allow his collarbone to heal.  He actually had an IV in his right arm.

“Keith?”  Shiro wasn’t sure why he was whispering; it just felt like he should.

Keith grunted and opened his eyes, the right nearly swollen shut, the white of his eye colored red.  Shiro stepped closer and Keith’s pupils were dilated.  Shiro wasn’t a stranger to pain medicine and it was clear Keith had been pumped with it, understandably.  He didn’t speak but Shiro dragged a folding chair next to the bed.

“What the fuck happened?” Shiro asked.  Keith turned his head away but Shiro waited.  Keith breathed slowly, swallowed audibly, and then turned to look at Shiro again. His bottom lip was stitched in the middle and bruised down to his chin.  “Keith.”

“He was saying stuff to people,” Keith said quietly.  “Why do people even know?  Who…” Keith cleared his throat and winced.  Shiro noted the ring of bruises around Keith’s throat and felt a wild surge of anger – someone, one of those students, had actually wrapped their fingers around Keith’s neck and tried to strangle him.  “Who said something?  Shiro, I can’t – ” Keith’s voice wavered.  He turned his head away again, a clear sign that he was crying.  After that first breakdown in Keith’s room he didn’t cry again, at least not in front of Shiro.  He actually hoped Keith let it out when he was alone.  Clearly keeping things in wasn’t working – he was boiling over and Shiro was actually starting to get scared for him.

“No one said anything, Keith.  Commander Holt would never do that to you.   _I_ would never do that to you, ok?”  Shiro waited for a response and was relieved when he reached out to put his hand over Keith’s right and Keith didn’t pull away.  Keith’s breath shuddered.  “Jealous kids spread rumors to account for their own failures.”

Keith nodded and took slow, carefully measured breaths.  He didn’t look at Shiro again but whispered that he was really tired.  Shiro stayed and let Keith sleep,  standing reluctantly only when Hernandez reappeared at his side.

“You’re his mentor so I’m letting you know that I’ve written him a medical excuse out of classes this week.  I know he has a stubborn streak, but for the love of god Shiro, keep his ass out of the training room.  If he displaces that fracture it’s going to be worse.”

“Got it,” Shiro said.  “I can at least keep him away from there.  He doesn’t need any more fighting, even if it is for learning purposes.”

She nodded, wished him goodnight, and shooed him away.

 

He gave Keith space for a few days before he turned up at his door.  Keith opened it, standing on the other side in a white tee shirt and boxer shorts.  Somehow he looked worse.

“I brought you some food,” Shiro said, holding up take-out that he was technically not allowed to have. “Can I come in?”

“Sure,” Keith said, allowing Shiro in and closing the door behind him.  Shiro sat in the desk chair and Keith stood in front of him.  On the desk was a prescription bottle of painkillers, and the immobilizer Keith was supposed to be wearing.  He frowned and set down the bag of Chinese takeout.

“You should have that on.”

“I know.  I took it off to shower and I can’t put it back on by myself,” Keith said, shrugging his right shoulder.

“Do you want my help?” Shiro asked.  Keith considered it for a moment before nodding.

“Yeah, that’d be… Yes, thank you.  It hurts more without it,” he said, allowing Shiro to help slide his arm into its portion and then stood behind Keith as he velcroed it across his back and tightened the strap.  Shiro carefully put his hand on Keith’s arm.

“We need to talk,” Shiro said.  Keith huffed.

“This is the part where I tell you that I don’t want to talk but you talk anyway,” Keith said.  “So go ahead.”  Keith moved away and sat on the bed but Shiro chose to sit back down in the desk chair.

“I think you should talk to someone,” Shiro said cautiously.  He’d brought it up exactly once before and Keith had blown up at him and refused to talk to him for nearly a week.

“I’m talking to you,” Keith said defiantly.  He dropped his eyes, avoiding Shiro’s stare and picked the skin around his fingernails on his left hand.

“That’s not what I mean and you know it,” Shiro said.  Keith kept picking at his fingers until Shiro reached out and put his hand over Keith’s.  “Will you think about it? I’m worried about you.”

Keith chewed his lip before looking up at Shiro through a fringe of bangs.  He thinks Keith is lucky they don’t force military haircuts – he’d mentioned that once too and Keith looked like he was going to have an aneurysm.  He nodded once.  “I’ll think about it, ok?  I… I already talked to my social worker about _maybe_ talking to someone.”

Shiro was surprised by that, and though he wanted to believe Keith, the twist of doubt in his stomach was much too strong.  He didn’t mention it because anything that would push Keith away right now was something he wanted to avoid.

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“But I need you to do something for me,” Keith said.

“Anything.”

“Don’t tell me what I’m ready for, or not ready for,” he said, catching Shiro off guard.  “I’m not going to break.” _Because I’m already broken_ was what Shiro heard even when Keith stopped speaking.  “I know what I want, Shiro.  And maybe last time you were right and it was a bad time but… don’t keep pushing me away.  I don’t do anything I don’t want to do.”

Shiro mirrored Keith’s earlier action and chewed his lip.  These were dangerous waters they were skirting.  On the one hand, Shiro would love nothing more than to spend quality time with Keith, making out like couples their age did, even groping in the dark but he worried about how Keith would handle it, even if the latter said he was fine.  On the other hand, he didn’t want to touch Keith at all for fear it would throw him into a tailspin Shiro couldn’t pull him out of.

“Ok,” Shiro said.  “But there are limits.”

Keith leveled him with a stare.  “Please inform me of your limits.”

“We’re not having sex, Keith,” Shiro said and had the situation been different he’d have laughed.  People his and Keith’s age spent countless hours sneaking around for anywhere to have dirty quickies, or lying to parents to spend weekends in bed together.  Their situation was a little different but Keith scoffed anyway.  “I’m not saying never, I can promise you that.  But… not yet.”

“Okay,” Keith conceded.  “What else?”

“Kissing, making out or whatever,” Shiro cleared his throat.  “Touching.  I’m fine – more than fine – with all of it but you _have_ to tell me if you’re uncomfortable with something.  I don’t care how small it seems or if you think it’s stupid, or whatever.  Promise me you’ll be honest and speak up.”

Keith nodded, looked down at his lap and back up at Shiro.  “Yeah.  Yeah, I can do that.”

“Good.”

“I can also, since you’ve _given your permission_ ,” he said, one eyebrow arched, “do this?”

To Shiro it seemed like he moved slowly, like he was underwater, but Keith stood and walked the three steps over to him and straddled Shiro’s lap.  Shiro held his hands out at his sides for a moment, unsure of what to do, but Keith took Shiro’s left wrist in his right hand and guided it to his hip.  “It’s ok,” Keith said softly.  “You can touch me.  I’ll tell you if I don’t want you to.”

Shiro let both hands settle gently on Keith’s bony hips.  Keith was the one who pressed their mouths together.  It felt good, impossibly good; Keith’s mouth was warm, maybe a little sour from sleep, but it was perfect that way.

“If things don’t work with your therapy,” Shiro said carefully, Keith’s hand coming to rest behind his neck.  “Promise you’ll talk to me?”

“Yeah,” Keith whispered, pressing another kiss to Shiro’s mouth.  “I will.”

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't finished -- there is another piece that I'm working on and I haven't decided if it is a stand-alone piece to follow this one, or if it should be a second part of this. I'm leaning toward the latter.


End file.
